And They Shall Become One
by CharlesTheBold
Summary: Adam and Joan's wedding day has arrived, but there's a hitch in getting hitched...PLEASE REVIEW
1. Ceremonies

**AND THEY SHALL BECOME ONE**

_(Disclaimer: I have no business connection with JOAN. My only purpose in writing this story is to have fun and maybe share it)_

_(Author's Note: This story is part of a series that takes place in the year after the JOAN OF ARCADIA TV show ended. A listing of the other stories is on my profile. The main events that have happened since May 2005 are _

_(1) Joan has let Grace, Luke, and Adam into her secret _

_(2) Luke has been promoted into the same grade as Joan, Grace, and Adam._

_(3) Grace and Luke have spent two nights together _

_(4) Joan and Adam are engaged_

_(5) "Sister" Lily has married Kevin_

_This story is set in June, 2006_)

**Chapter 1 Ceremonies**

Graduation Day!

The senior class was seated on the floor of the gym, with large mats to protect the floor against the chair legs (Grace observed that "it beats running in circles for no reason", referring to gym class). Joan was seated with her brother and best friends, but though they were physically together, she could tell that each had a different attitude toward the ceremony.

Grace, seated on the end of the row, seemed to be just glad to be getting out of the school. She was excited about a new job she had applied for, working for a nonsectarian famine-relief agency in some Third World countries.

Luke, who was naturally sitting next to Grace, was a little more sentimental. High school society had not been kind, but at least it was there that he met people he cared about: Glynis, Friedmann, Ms. Lischak the eccentric teacher, and above all Grace. Maybe he was putting Joan's divine friend in that category too. But that did not mean he was willing to endure another year; he was relieved that the school board had allowed him to jump a year.

Adam seemed pleased. He had once resolved to drop out if he ever sold an artwork successfully; now the graduation and the sale were actually happening at the same time. His painting of the JUDGEMENT OF PARIS had become a big hit, sparking a bidding war between a local museum and a collector in Baltimore. The bids had pushed the price up so far that he had a comfortable sum in the bank, to start off adult life with.

Joan, sitting between Adam and Luke, frankly didn't care about the graduation. She was looking forward to tomorrow, her wedding day. She and Adam had deliberately scheduled what Kevin called "the one-two punch" some time ago, leaving one phase of life and immediately embarking on another. And she was going to experience physical love for the first time, because she was the only member of the quartet to have kept her virginity up to now. That scared her but exhilarated her as well.

Meanwhile the ordeal. Vice-President Price had apparently cut costs by neglecting to hire an interesting speaker, and was giving the main address himself. He was droning on about how "we" had prepared students for life. Actually she knew nobody who felt that an encounter with Price had been a positive experience; to Joan all the school's credit belonged to a few teachers like Harbison in law and Lischak in science.

Price ended by an exhortation to the students to "march boldly into tomorrow". Then, to a smattering of polite applause, he turned from the podium to walk to his chair. Unfortunately, he stepped on the hem of his long academic robe and fell forward in a heap. That generated a lot louder applause and even some cheers. Joan, looking up in the stands, even saw her mother clapping her hands enthusiastically.

Price made a hasty exit. The remaining teachers on the dais looked at each other and finally Driesbach, the oldest, stepped forward. "Will the students now line up in the right-hand aisle for receiving your diplomas? Please arrange yourselves in alphabetical order."

They got up. "One last bit of regimentation!" proclaimed Grace.

"Actually, sorting in order is often a useful operation in systems," observed Luke.

"And it would certainly be more attractive than standing in a crowd waiting for names to be called," added Adam.

"Refuted by both Art and Science!" said Grace in mock dismay. She and Adam walked off toward the latter part of the alphabet. Joan and her brother, of course, were still together as Girardis.

Somebody put on a recording of POMP AND CIRCUMSTANCE, and the line began. As Joan reached the front of the line, Driesbach handed her the diploma and whispered, "I want to apologize one last time for doubting you, Miss Girardi." He was referring to the incident in sophomore year when he had accused Joan of cheating on a test.

"It's all behind us now," she whispered back reassuringly.

After the procession ended the students were all bunched at the back of the gym, and free to mingle. Joan saw a familiar cute boy walk up in cap and gown. "Congratulations, Joan."

"Thanks," she said, shaking hands. Then she frowned. "You don't have a mission for me, do you?"

"No. To quote Saint Augustine, 'Just love, and do what you like'."

"Thank God."

"You're welcome."

She looked over His gown. "Are you sure that you're entitled to that? How many credits have you earned?"

"I can safely say that I was in every class. After all, I'm omni-present."

Joan laughed. "Did you have something to do with Price's little pratfall?"

He looked innocent. "It was an accident. An act of God."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

The next day Joan had exchanged her cap-and-gown for a bridal dress. She couldn't think of any time that she had been out of her jeans for so long. Father Ken Mallory had agreed to conduct the ceremony, in spite of the fact that neither Adam nor Joan belonged to his church, and so Joan was seated in the Bride's Room of the local Catholic Church. Apparently it was traditional for her to stay out of sight until time came for the big entrance.

Grace came in. She was wearing a long frilly dress as the Maid of Honor, and she was looking rather awkward, as if she would much rather be riding her horse or taking part in a protest march. But she was putting up with it for Joan's sake.

"Professor Begh called," announced Grace, referring to the Muslim scholar who taught in the local university, and raised horses on the side. It was his daughter who had given Grace her palomino, on Grace's 18th birthday. "He'll send a carriage so you two can make a dramatic exit, but he'll wait until the last minute. He didn't think the church would appreciate a lot of horse crap in the street in front of their main entrance. That may just be a polite excuse for him and Maggie not to get involved in a Christian ritual."

"Talking about horse crap is polite?"

"He phrased it better," said Grace lightly, going back out.

Five minutes before the scheduled ceremony, Grace came back. Joan could hear music from the organ: Bach's JESU JOY OF MAN'S DESIRING. "Mr. Rove is here, but not Adam. Said they agreed to come separately; Adam had something to do at the last minute."

"He's supposed to be doing ME!" Joan said fretfully. "I mean--"

"Yeah, well you know Adam. I think he wanted to pack a work of art to surprise you on the honeymoon. Time flies, but art is long."

"Huh?"

"Ancient Roman proverb," Grace said, exiting again. She was more literary than she was willing to admit.

Fifteen minutes later Grace reappeared, this time accompanied by Joan's mother and sister-in-law. From outside Joan heard no music, but the rumbling of a congregation.

"How can a guy be late for his own wedding?" fumed Lily.

"Adam can lose track of time when engaged in an artwork. But today?" said Helen in confusion.

"Mr. Rove is going back to the house to check," announced Grace. "He didn't bring his cell phone."

Thirty minutes after the wedding was supposed to begin, Mr. Rove himself appeared in the Bride's Room and stammered out his news, clearly shocked himself. There was no sign of Adam in the house. All he had found was a note, saying "I CAN'T GO THROUGH WITH IT".

Joan and her mother sat in shock while Lily engaged in some very un-nunlike cursing. Finally the sister-in-law cooled down and said "I suppose we'll have to tell the guests--"

Joan had been dumped at the altar.

TBC


	2. Consolations?

**AND THEY SHALL BECOME ONE**

_(Author's Note: This chapter quotes some of my earlier Joan stories. Glynis' pregnancy and marriage were from AUTUMN RITUALS. Joan met Veronica Mars in LO, I SHALL TELL YOU A MYSTERY)_

**Chapter 2 Consolations**

Joan had barricaded herself in her room, trying to keep the world out. Anything in the world that reminded her of today's blow. She had torn off her wedding dress, and might have ripped it up if her mother had not rescued it. Even the simple act of lying back in bed triggered unwelcome thoughts. Tonight, she should have been lying in her wedding bed, with her beloved.

When simply pushing the matter out of her mind did not work, she tried to find solutions. Her Dad was a policeman; couldn't his colleagues track Adam down wherever he was? Yes, but being a jerk wasn't a crime; it would be an abuse of police power to use their resources to find Adam. What about other detectives? There was that father/daughter team from California that she had met a couple of months ago. Could they--?

Joan sat at her computer and tried to type an Email. The first few tries were embarrassingly emotional; she finally managed to whittle them down to a bland:

_It's my wedding day but my fiance disappeared. Can you help?_

_-- Joan Girardi_

and hit send.

The Mars girl must have been at her computer already, because the reply came back a few minutes later.

_I worked on a "runaway bride" case a few months ago. It was one big mess, because the real problem wasn't the running away, but the relationship between the bride and groom. Fortunately they weren't friends of mine and I was able to wash my hands of the whole lot. (After pocketing my fee, of course)_

_I don't think I should work on a case like this where my friends are involved. When bad feelings fly around, a lot of them end up targeted at me. I hope you find a better solution._

_-- Veronica._

"Bitch," snarled Joan. But after thinking about a minute Joan realized that Veronica Mars was being perfectly sensible, and Joan was glad her friend was thousands of miles away when she uttered that epithet. What good would it do to find Adam if he simply didn't want Joan, for whatever reason?

Joan walked over to her radio and turned it on, hoping for some distraction. Some country-western singer was singing a blues ballad about lost love. Joan was about to turn it off again when the singer said, "This means you, Joan."

"What the hell do you think you're doing with my life?" Joan yelled at the radio.

"I don't do hell, Joan," said Singer God's voice.

"You know what I mean! Yesterday I asked if you had a mission, and you said I could love and do what I wanted. Well, loving and doing what I want requires two people!" Joan took a deep breath. "Last year, when Adam started getting horny, you warned me that our relationship was entering a new stage. I didn't react properly then, but at least you warned me. Why didn't you do it this time?"

"When I appear to you, it's usually because there's a choice for you to make. In this case, nothing you did would make a difference."

"Are you saying I was fated to be a laughingstock? 'I'm Joan, kick my ass'."

"I'm saying that the crucial choice lay with Adam, and he chose wrong."

"So why you here now?"

"To console you, Joan."

"It's not working."

"You are suffering on several levels, Joan. Dashed hopes, sexual frustration, and the feeling that you have been humiliated. But the last is wrong. When A hurts B, it is A who should be shamed, not B."

"I'm a girl, not an algebra equation."

"You are a girl with the potential for greatness, Joan. I discerned that three years ago, and it's more obvious to me now. Nothing that Adam did to you can take that away. And, strictly from a secular point of view, remember that you do not live in a society like Jane Austen's, where a woman was judged solely by her ability to land a husband. You have many other accomplishments ahead."

With that, the singer started another song, and it was clear that God was no longer using her as a mouthpiece. Joan switched off the radio, sat at the end of the bed, and thought.

She heard the front doorbell ring, but ignored it. Her entire family, plus Grace, were camped out in the living room downstairs and Joan thought they could be relied upon to filter out any guests. Yet--

KNOCKNOCKNOCK on Joan's bedroom door.

"Who's there?" Joan demanded.

"The Friedmanns," came Glynis' voice.

"Go away."

"We've come to help you, Joan," came Friedmann's voice.

"I don't see how."

"Well, let us in and we can explain," said Glynis.

Joan rolled her eyes and then looked down at herself. All her best clothes were packed for the honeymoon, of course, and she was wearing a T-shirt and jeans from the bottom of her drawer. Nothing really embarrassing, though, and so she unlocked the door.

"OK, you can come in. But isn't there a baby that you two should be taking care of?" Joan hadn't been planning on having a baby any time soon -- indeed, had been careful to pack in "protection" for her wedding night -- but knowledge that gawky Glynis was a happy wife and mother was an added irritation. Never mind that the pregnancy was an accident and the marriage was a consequence.

"Your mother and sister-in-law are looking after him downstairs," said Glynis, who probably guessed Joan's real meaning but pretended to take the question at face value. "We convinced them that it was important to talk to you."

"So say your piece."

"I know what you're going through, Joan," said Glynis. "Last fall, when I realized I had a baby inside me and Friedmann wouldn't marry me--"

"I'M NOT PREGNANT!" yelled Joan. "Why does this always come up?"

Glynis got flustered. "I didn't mean -- I mean -- ulp --"

"The real parallel," declared Friedmann," is that today Adam was acting like a scumbag, and last fall, I was."

The novelty of hearing the normally smug Friedmann refer to himself as a scumbag got Joan's attention.

"You were the one who talked sense into me last fall," Friedmann went on, "and I owe you a big favor. So if we find Adam, I'll try to talk to him, man-to-man."

Joan giggled in spite of herself: neither the nerdy Friedmann nor the hyper-sensitive Adam fit the macho image of "man-to-man". "I've got two brothers and a father who can do that."

"Yeah," said Friedmann, "but they'd been tempted to slug Adam. I have more detachment."

"Detachment, yeah," muttered Joan.

"And I can help find Adam," said Glynis. "It's hard to move these days without leaving a paper or electronic trail behind, and Adam doesn't have any experience covering his as -- I beg your pardon, his actions. Remember how they found Grace last winter, even when she came up with the weird idea of running away on a horse? I'll hit the Internet."

"Thank you," said Joan, and on sudden impulse she hugged Glynis, a minor friend who yet came through in an emergency.

It seemed that everybody was on her side, from two nerds to the Lord God himself. So how had she happened to lose Adam's love?

TBC


	3. Life Goes On

**AND THEY SHALL BECOME ONE**

**Chapter 3 Life Goes On**

Joan skipped supper that evening, but on Sunday morning hunger finally drove her down to breakfast. It turned out that only her mother and Luke were there. Lily and Kevin had gone home last night, and Joan wondered, a bit enviously, whether they had made love. Lily had once confirmed that they could, in spite of Kevin's paralysis, but was shy of giving details.

Dad had gone off to his office, apparently having decided that hunting for Adam from there was acceptable as long as he did it on his own time.

"So when does your summer job at the labs begin?" Mom was asking Luke.

"Couple of weeks."

"Do you have plans for what to do in the meantime?"

"I thought I might take riding lessons."

Helen nearly choked on her orange juice. "You, on a horse?"

"What's wrong with that?"

"I thought your childhood fantasy was to fly on a starship, sitting with Checkov and Silly--"

"That's Sulu!"

"I suppose," Joan said teasingly, "Luke thinks it would be cool to go riding with Grace during the summer. Maggie Begh gave her a horse for her birthday."

Mom suddenly got stern. "_Grace_. I should've known. This is about following your girlfriend over to the Third World, isn't it?"

Joan groaned. This argument had been going on, in one form or another, ever since Grace decided to join a famine-relief organization after graduation, and Luke had declared an intention of following her instead of going to Harvard. Since the relief workers were required to know how to ride animals, in case they got stranded somewhere without advanced transportation, Luke suddenly wanted riding lessons. Joan would probably have seen this coming if she wasn't so pre-occupied by her failed wedding. But at least it meant that neither family member was pestering her with questions about Adam.

"It's a noble cause," declared Luke defensively.

"There are lots of noble causes, Luke," countered Helen. "You can go to school and improve your knowledge, and someday you'll invent something that'll benefit humanity. That's a noble cause."

"I'll decide which one to follow."

"But you're NOT making good decisions. Take the time last month you followed her family to New York. Have you repaid Joan for your travel expenses?"

"I don't care about--" Joan tried to put in.

"And you still haven't told us where you stayed that night. Grace's bed, wasn't it?"

"That's a very personal matter," said Luke, turning red. Given his light skin and blonde hair, he blushed very visibly.

"You're 17, Luke, and very hormonal. And you've gotten in the grip of an older woman who --"

"Older woman? Grace is just 7 months older than I am. She was still in the womb when you got pregnant with me."

That stopped Helen for a minute, as it was unspoken but common knowledge in the family that Helen's third pregnancy had come as a shock. She had borne Joan only a month before and Helen had assumed that she was not fertile.

Before Helen could think of a rejoinder, the kitchen phone rang, and the mother went to get it. "No, Will isn't here; he's at the office--"

"We can't win," Luke whispered to Joan angrily. "First the Polonskis think I'm a scheming seducer, and when I finally convince them otherwise, Mother decides that Grace is a h-h-whore."

"I think she feels she's losing control everywhere," Joan whispered back. "She can't cure Kevin, my marriage mess means she can't help me OR Adam. So she focuses on you."

"Well, I'm going to the riding stable anyway. Care to come along?"

"I don't like horses."

"Well, there's the park across the street. I just thought you'd want to get out of the house."

"Good idea."

---

Approaching Arcadia's main park gave Joan uncomfortable flashes of déjà vu. On the south border she saw the bench, where she and Adam had sat while he assured her that he believed her story about God. He had SO wanted to please her then. On the east side she saw the playground where she had learned Double Dutch and tried to befriend Casper. But Casper had disappeared, just like Adam--

The stables were across the street from the north end of the park. Experienced equestrians would ride across the street and use a bridle path that ran along the park's northern boundary. Joan had tended to avoid the area because she had blamed contact with horses for her attack of Lyme Disease. But at least that meant that this end of the park held no memories for her.

There was a playground south of the bridle path, and next to it, a grove of trees. Joan decided to walk among the trees, where it was shady.

Hearing some rustling in the trees, Joan looked up and saw a little boy sitting on a high limb. It was hard for her to estimate distance, but he was WAY UP THERE. "Hey!" She called. "That's dangerous. Where's your mom?"

"I'm okay." The boy called down, reaching for a nearby branch. Two seconds later he tumbled off his limb and started falling. He landed on the ground with a thud and started screaming.

Joan rushed over to look at him. She had no medical training and could not tell if there was anything wrong, but soothing words and reassuring pats she managed to calm him a bit. He was still sobbing from pain.

Joan thrust her hand in her jeans pocket, but her cell phone wasn't there. She hadn't been very organized this morning. Instead she got to her feet. "Help! Help! Is there a doctor nearby?"

A thirtyish woman walked up. "I'm a nurse. What -- oh!" she said, seeing the boy and guessing the problem. She knelt and gave him an experienced examination. "Broken leg at the least. We ought to get him to the emergency clinic. Is this your kid?"

"Mine? No." Joan wondered whether she looked like a woman old enough to have a five-year-old kid.

"We need to find his family. Otherwise they'll wonder where he's gone." She turned to the little boy. "Where's your mommy?"

"Sister. Pony." He gasped between sobs.

Joan ran back to the bridle path and looked around. Several riders who didn't match the description, but finally she saw a young woman in jeans leading a pony; a girl even younger than the injured boy was in the saddle.

"Excuse me; do you have a little boy? Blue jeans, green shirt?"

"Yes--?"

"He got hurt over there. A nurse is with him."

The mother snatched up the girl and ran in the direction Joan pointed, leaving Joan with the pony. Joan awkwardly led the pet to a nearby tree and tied the reins to a small branch, hoping another rider would see and report it.

By the time she got back to the tree, the nurse had explained the situation to the mother and the two were clearly about to walk away toward the parking lot. But the mother took a second to talk to Joan. "I shouldn't have let him out of my sight. You're the one who saw it happen and got help. Thank you. God bless you, miss."

_Yeah, that may be a little redundant--_

---

"I'm feeling a lot better now," Joan told Grace that evening. She was visiting the rabbi's house, not wanting the "older woman" to run into her mother. "Adam treated me like crap, but I'm NOT crap. I can still help people, create good ripples."

"Yeah," said Grace, frowning.

"What's wrong, Grace?"

"Nothing."

"Come on, spill it!"

"Well-- don't think it was all too well timed?"

"Huh?"

"Here's you, needing your self-confidence boosted. And presto, an accident happens where you do everything right, and your confidence gets boosted."

"What? Are you saying God knocked the poor kid out of the tree?"

"Or tempted him to climb up too high, knowing the consequences. After all, who's more important to God, the kid or the girl he's been cultivating for the last 3 years? He foreknew the kid wouldn't be hurt too bad -- or intervened to make sure of it."

"Do you really think so?"

"I don't know!" yelled Grace, letting all her emotions show for one of the first times since Joan had met her. "I'm in a terrible mood, all sorts of things going through my head. I've known Rove for longer than you have, and he wouldn't trust me to know what was going on!"

"Can you guess?"

"I have an idea. You don't want to know."

"Tell me!"

"All right. Girardi, Adam's disappearance may have had nothing to do with YOU. Keep in mind what his mother did to herself. Could he have decided to do the same thing? In which case, he may simply have wanted to leave you out of it."

"My God! We've GOT to find Adam."

----

Joan slept very poorly that night. The next day would ordinarily have been a work day, but of course she had reserved it off for the honeymoon that didn't happen, and didn't feel like calling in and explaining everything to Sammy. So she simply lay in bed and sulked.

"Joan! Could you come down?" came Helen's voice.

"Do I have to?"

"There's a Fed-ex man here, needs your signature."

Joan got up and put a robe over her pajamas; that would have to do as far as decency went. Going through the motions, she went down, signed for the package, and opened it without much curiosity about the contents.

There was no letter. Inside was simply a check, from Adam Rove to Joan Girardi, for 5,000 dollars. The amount Adam had been paid for his most recent painting. As far as Joan knew, that was the whole of his bank account.

In the "for" blank were simply the words, _"I'm sorry, Jane."  
_

TBC


	4. Clues

**AND THEY SHALL BECOME ONE**

**Chapter 4 Clues**

_(NOTE: Readers who want to see the original Michelangelo picture that Helen has in mind can Google with "Michelangelo "last judgement" detail God")_

_(NOTE: The painting of Joan as the goddess Aphrodite happened in one of my earlier stories, "TO THE FAIREST")_

Will sat in his office at police headquarters, examining the envelope, while his wife and daughter waited. Joan still had the check in her jeans pocket. She was afraid to cash it, as if that would symbolize acceptance of what had happened to her. At the same time, she was a little too practical to tear it up altogether. It was, after all, $ 5,000.

"Mailed from Mt. Airy, Maryland, two days ago," Will mused. He glanced up at a wall, where a map of Maryland was hanging. "That's a small town on Interstate 70 to Baltimore. I'd say that Baltimore was the final destination; that he stopped in Mt. Airy simply because he wanted to get the check in the mail before the courier office closed."

"Makes sense," Helen agreed. "But how are we going to find him in a huge metropolis?"

"Try to imagine things from his point of view. Composition of place, as Loyola called it--"

"You've read Loyola's _Spiritual Exercises_?" Helen asked in surprise.

Will dodged the question. "Adam's all alone in a big city. No money, because he's sent it all to Joan. Too shy to ask a stranger for help. What does he do?"

"Try to look for a friend that can help?"

Will nodded. "Now, Adam's hardly the gregarious type. Chances are that anybody he knows, would also be known to us, or to the Polonskis, or to his father---"

Helen snapped her fingers. "S.A. Wyrdafeller. The art collector who bought Adam's most recent picture. And he's loaded; he could loan Adam money and never miss it."

"Should I try calling him?"

"No, let me handle it. I understand art, and I can understand collectors -- I think."

----

Joan had been to Baltimore before; she mainly thought of it as a lot of old warehouses once you got out of the touristy Harbor area. She was rather surprised to find a sort of millionaire's row with gates and huge lawns. Unfortunately Joan and her mother were stopped at the gate.

"Mr. Wyrdafeller is rather busy today. What is your business?" asked the guard.

"We're looking for Adam Rove," said Helen. "I'm his teacher, this is his fiancee." No mention of the ruined wedding.

"I don't think we can help you." The guard said coldly.

"We think Adam may be in trouble. Has he been by here?"

"I don't think we can help you," the guard repeated robotically. Not "We don't know." It sounded like he knew something and had been ordered not to mention it.

"Very well, thank you," said Helen blandly.

"Yeah, for nothing, you jerk," Joan muttered under her breath. She didn't intend it to be overheard, but the guard peered through the car window to her. And kept peering.

"Wait a moment. That new picture with the goddesses -- that's you, isn't it?" asked the guard.

"Yeah," said Joan. "I'm the, um, naked one."

"Mr. Wyrdafeller was very interested in that painting," said the guard. "Just a moment." He stepped back out of hearing range and called somebody on his cell phone, speaking about half a minute. "OK, he wants to talk to you. Park inside the gate and walk to the front door. The butler will take you to Mr. Wyrdafeller."

Helen followed directions and parked the car inside. But Joan couldn't just leave things like this. This guy had seen her picture, and all it revealed. She had held her arms across her nipples and genital area, and Adam had prudently omitted her embarrassing birthmarks and the scar on her belly button, but that had still left plenty on display. She turned to him and trotted out the fib that she and Adam had agreed on. "Only the face is mine. Adam copied the body from some Internet site."

"If you say so, Miss," said the guard blandly. Helen pulled her daughter along.

"THOSE AREN'T MY BOOBS!" Joan called back at him desperately.

"_Joan_!" whispered her mother in exasperation.

----

They found themselves in a long well-lit hallway called the gallery, hung with many paintings, including Adam's JUDGEMENT OF PARIS. Even the chairs and other furniture looked like works of art, and probably were. Mr. Wyrdafeller was an old man who might have been a successful businessman once but now talked of nothing but artworks. His focus on the subject was so intense that Joan could easily imagine him getting on with Adam. He asked about Adam's painting, then wandered to other artworks, and Helen followed suit. Joan couldn't tell whether her mother was dazzled by the collection or humoring the host; either way she was getting antsy.

"Adam could be in trouble!" she finally shouted. "He's stranded in Baltimore with no money."

Mr. Wyrdafeller glared at Joan, then looked at her image in the painting, as if that cheered him up. Joan squirmed; it was as if she herself was naked and seeing herself in a mirror. She hadn't anticipated all this when she had posed. Was he turned on by her nudity or was there something more refined at work in his mind?

"Mr. Rove has money," he said finally. "I gave him several hundred dollars for a drawing yesterday. He asked me to keep the meeting confidential."

"Could we see the drawing?" asked Helen, for some reason. Maybe she thought that keeping the focus on art would keep the prickly collector happy.

"I suppose so." He walked to an ornate desk, itself probably an expensive collectible, and took out a piece of paper to hand to Helen. Joan looked over her mother's shoulder. It was a chalk drawing of her own features, looking angry. Her arm was raised above her head in an odd curve.

"I don't remember posing for that," she commented. "And why am I waving my arm like that?"

"Michelangelo's LAST JUDGEMENT," said Helen grimly. "God's gesture, hurling sinners into Hell."

"Let me see -- yes, that's definitely modeled on the Michelangelo," said Mr. Wyrdafeller. "I hadn't noticed the resemblance before."

Joan didn't care about Michelangelo at the moment. What struck her was the imagery. "But why does Adam show me throwing him into Hell? What have I done to him?" She sank into a chair and started crying.

That finally won Mr. Wydafeller's sympathy. He paced nervously. "Mr. Rove asked me not to talk about it, but plainly there is something wrong. Mr. Heeves!"

"Yes, sir?" a man in a butler outfit entered immediately, as if he had been waiting for a cue.

"Do you know where Mr. Rove went after his visit yesterday?"

"He inquired about some inexpensive lodgings, sir," said Mr. Heeves. "I recommended the Best Eastern motel."

"Would you find the address for these ladies?"

"I shall consult their web site, sir," said Mr. Heeves; the mention of the Internet program fit oddly with his nineteenth-century manners.

Helen patted her daughter's shoulder. "Don't cry, Joan. It looks like we've found him."

Joan nodded. She would have to pull herself together. Her mother had done a wonderful job in worming information out of a difficult informant, but once they confronted Adam, it was Joan who would have to win him over again.

TBC


	5. Confrontation

**AND THEY SHALL BECOME ONE**

**Chapter 5 Confrontation**

_(AUTHOR'S NOTE: Just an advance warning, this chapter will be pretty angsty, and include some discussion of sex.)_

"I don't understand what happened," said Joan as her mother drove the car out the gate."

"No," Helen mused, "you've mostly grown up with adults with a strong sense of duty, or at least those who try hard. Your father, Professor Begh, Father Mallory, even Price in a weird way. Not a selfish old man who uses his money to build up barriers against the world. Art is supposed to be a means of communication, but he has shut them up in his gallery where they communicate with nobody but him. But he has a weakness for people who can add to his collection or knowledge of art."

"Apparently," Helen went on, "Adam remembered Wydafeller's fascination with the mythology painting, so he went and sold him a drawing, in exchange for some ready cash and a promise to keep his visit secret. The catch was, the guard didn't want to tell an outright lie. He didn't deny having seen Adam, he just kept saying he couldn't help us. Your being Adam's model, and my being his teacher, gave us "cred" and got us in. Then it was just a matter of convincing the old man that we had a good cause."

"Yeah. But Adam once told me that he couldn't draw realistic pictures without a model. What about that drawing?"

"I don't know, Joan. All I can suppose is that he has an image of an angry you in his brain, powerful enough to draw from memory. He's always thought in terms of visual images; it is what makes him such a good artist, but also hard to communicate with."

"But what does he think I've done to him?"

Helen couldn't answer that. They kept on driving.

--

The Best Eastern Motel was not in the millionaire's corner of Baltimore, nor did it live up to its name. It was a run-down motel, surrounded by other buildings in a similar state. If Adam was staying here it meant that he was trying to stretch out Mr. Wyrdafeller's reward as long as possible. But it least that implied that he wasn't planning to do himself in as Grace has feared.

They went to the registration desk, and while Helen tried to talk the clerk into giving out names, Joan looked around. There at a vending machine--

_"Adam!"_

Yelling was a bad idea. He took one look at her and started running away, with Joan at his heals. She had never been a good sprinter, as her gym coach had continually reminded her, but then neither had Adam. He raced across the parking lot, disappeared into a first-floor room and slammed the door seconds before Joan could arrive.

She banged on the door. "Adam! Please! Let me in! I'm your Jane, I love you. Please tell me why you hate me!"

"I don't hate you, Jane," came his voice through the door.

"You could have fooled me. At least you owe me an explanation, not some stupid five thousand dollars--"

Abruptly he opened the door and stood there. He was a mess, as if he had let himself go to seed ever since leaving Wydafeller's mansion. Two day's stubble, clothes that had probably been worn for the same length of time. "Come in, if you insist." His voice was quiet as usual, but here it held overtones of self-debasement, as if wondering why Joan would bother trying to reclaim him.

Joan looked back at her mother, who shrugged helplessly. This was Joan's decision. She walked into the room and closed the door behind her.

There was an unmade bed. Joan avoided that -- too suggestive -- and sat on a trunk in the corner. He took the bed. "Okay. Let's stop screaming and running, Adam. Just tell me, WHY?"

"As I said, I couldn't go through with it."

"Why not? Were you ashamed to get up in front of everybody and take me as your wife?"

"No, no, you've got it backwards, Jane. It's me that's not worthy of you."

"What the hell gave you that idea?"

Adam took a deep breath. "Up until last winter, I thought I understood you. Everybody thought you were a ditz, dashing back and forth from one project to another, but I was the only one who saw the real Jane. Then I learned that you had been touched by God, chosen for some grand destiny." He hesitated. "A few years ago, when my Mom died and the Polonskis took me in for a few days, the Rabbi told me about the Messiah, who would bring peace and justice to the world. Jane, do you think you could be the Messiah?"

_"What?_ I'm a girl! The Messiah's supposed to be a guy!"

"The ancient writers thought so, but nowadays we understand that women can do anything men can."

"I'd make a very messed-up Messiah."

"A saint, then. Superhuman in some way. You deserve a husband a lot better than me."

Joan was finally understanding where Adam was coming from. The other people Joan had told and who had believed her -- Judith, Luke, Grace, Veronica -- had accepted Joan's own view of the situation -- that she was an ordinary girl who had been mysteriously chosen. Theologians called it the Grace of God, the divine decision that was independent of the person's own merits. But the effect on Adam had been totally different. His love for Joan, his tendency to idealize, and her insistence on staying a virgin until marriage had all combined to make her an awe-inspiring image in Adam's mind, like the Virgin Mary or Dante's Beatrice.

"I deny that -- and I told you my secret six months ago! If it bothers you, why haven't you mentioned this before?"

"At first I handled it by regarding you as a sort of Goddess of Love -- divine but still sexy. It was your decision when we'd become intimate, but that's the power a goddess would have."

It still sounded crazy to Joan, but at least it had kept them together through the Spring, made Adam willing to accept Joan's proposal. "What went wrong?"

"I realized my error at the time of the auction, the one where Wydafeller bought the JUDGEMENT OF PARIS. The picture got a lot of attention because of the bidding war between Wydafeller and his competitor. Kevin was covering the event for his paper, because he was supposed to interview some of the people there. Afterwards he came to see me, and he was furious."

_"Kevin?"_

"Yeah. I can't quote him word for word, but it was plain where he was coming from. He said you had always been bashful, and had never let him see your breasts since you entered puberty, but now every Tom, Dick, and Harry could see them, looking at the picture. If he hadn't stopped the paper's photographer from snapping it, they could have ended up in every newspaper in Arcadia. When I said you had agreed to pose, he said, 'Of course she did. She's crazy about you. Just like she's crazy about boats and music lessons and knitting and whatever else becomes the Project of the Week. You took advantage of her.' I pointed out that your Mom knew what was going on and didn't stop us, he said 'Yeah, Mom's an artist too. Thinks a nude is an art form, not a girl with all her defenses down.' And 'Lots of Lily's friends are curious about whether I can DO IT and how we manage it, but she never reveals our intimate secrets. Why couldn't you show my sister the same tact?'. And 'If I could get out of this chair, I'd beat you up, but the most I can do is yell and hope that some of the sense gets in your head'."

"Kevin doesn't know about the God angle. He still thinks I am his kooky little sister that spent a summer in Crazy Camp and has to be protected."

And perhaps in Kevin's mind was the horrible story they had heard, about how their mother had been raped during her college years because she had let defenses down. But Joan couldn't tell Adam about that, not without her mother's permission.

"But he was right about one thing. Even as plain Jane, you're entitled to your dignity. As the Chosen One, you're entitled to so much more. I can't treat you like I did Bonnie--"

"How did you treat Bonnie? Never mind; I don't want to know. So you were afraid that once we got in bed, you'd be so inhibited that you'd have importations?" The word did not sound quite right, but Adam could probably tell what she meant. She certainly didn't want to spell out a male sexual problem to the male in question.

"Something like that."

"I'd have waited, and nobody need have known. The real question is, with all this talk about dignity, why did you humiliate me in front of all the guests? And why didn't you at least explain afterwards?"

Adam winced. "That was stupid. The truth is, I'm used to tuning out what people think, outside of my circle of friends. At school they said I was a druggie, that you were crazy, that Grace was a gay biker chick, that Luke was nothing. Remember the nickname they gave us? The Subdefectives. I didn't care about the crowd, and I really wasn't thinking about the public side of our wedding. As for explaining -- when I got on my cell, I found a voiceMail from Grace, recorded just after the ceremony. She really cussed me out--"

"Yeah, she's good at that."

"-- and I realized then what I had done to you. Trying to treat you with reverence, and instead I'd done the opposite, embarrassing you in front of everybody. I knew you'd never have me after that. I mailed you the money I got from the painting; that was the least I could do. I decided to disappear in the big city. When Mr. Wyrdafeller offered me spending money for any drawing I would give him, the only thing that I could think of was you and your Friend casting me out, so I drew that."

"Oh, Adam, my thing with God is nothing like that! I'm just a human being like you, with a human body. I've got an ass back there like everybody else, even if you didn't see it when I was posing. I admit I was nervous about sex, but that's just jitters, not 'My strength is as the strength of ten because my heart is pure'."

Adam stared at the ground.

"All right," said Joan in exasperation. "You insist on treating me like a goddess. Well, Goddess to Human: I want to be kissed. Now."

He walked toward her and she enveloped him in her arms. It was probably the most emotional embrace they had ever exchanged, but still it didn't feel right. Adam's body language was too worshipful. The wrong sort of worship.

"Pat me on the behind, Adam."

_"What_? But---"

"Yeah, my butt. I want you to." He had never taken such a liberty before, nor had she wanted it, but she had to get his reticence out of his system.

She felt the hand travel down her back until it reached her hips. Joan flinched; this was the point at which she had panicked, that night in the camper. But she couldn't back out now. Given his mood, it might be permanent.

She endured the touch for a few seconds, then released him. "I'm coming back tonight. The hell with saving myself for the wedding. We'll seal our love forever. All right?"

"All right."

Not "I love you". Not "Tonight, tonight" like in the school musical last winter. Just "all right".

It was a shock when she opened the door and found the afternoon sun still shining, her mother still waiting in the parking lot looking concerned. The journey into Adam's soul seemed to have taken hours.

She had triumphed, hadn't she? She had won him back, and would experience his love in a few hours.

But it was never supposed to happen like this.

TBC


	6. Comsummation

**AND THEY SHALL BECOME ONE**

**Chapter 6 COMSUMMATION**

Joan could not, of course, explain to her mother about the God angle. The most she could say was that a combination of guilt over Bonnie and general pre-marital jitters had brought on a case of "importations". Helen could expect her to be reticent about details; she didn't even correct Joan's mispronunciation of the word.

She reluctantly acquiesced when Joan asked her to reserve a room so that she could visit Adam that night. Clearly she couldn't repeat the Sex Lecture to a daughter who was supposed to have been married a few days ago.

That evening, shortly after sundown, Joan walked out of the second-floor room that she and her mother and rented at Best Eastern. There was an African-American man in a minister's outfit leaning against the railing, as if waiting for Joan.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"Commerce between master and slave is despotism."

"Um, yeah. Thomas Jefferson. Who didn't practice what he preached."

"No. But you could follow the principle, Joan."

She stared. "Preacher God? Isn't that a little egotistical? Leading your congregation in praise of yourself?"

"Don't have much congregation. Look at it this way: who could be a better vicar of God than God?"

"I'm not in a theological mood at the moment."

"I know the mood you're in, Joan, and that's while I'm here. Taking advantage of Adam's awe may solve your current problem, but it's not the basis of a good marriage. I created people equal, and they should treat each other that way. In the marriage bond above all else, since it is the most powerful bond between people in society."

"In that case, couldn't you just erase what Adam knows about me and you? Put things like they were last Christmas?"

"No, Joan. Free will is a mockery, if I undo the events that result from its use. You must accept the ripples which have already started. You and Adam must work with the situation that you have."

----

Adam was awaiting Her return with both eagerness and anxiety. He had put on a fresh set of clothes and made the bed to look more presentable. Both were rather redundant, considering what they were planning to do, but he felt compelled to do something in Her honor. She had deigned to forgive him, after all.

A knock on the door, and Adam answered. His beloved entered, with a stony visage. "Turn out the lights, will you, Adam?"

"Right." She probably didn't want him to see Her undressing this time, even though She had allowed him the liberty before. Once the lights were off, the only thing he could make out was her silhouette, outlined by the lights from the parking lot, shining between the blinds of his window.

"I've given it some thought," She said, "and I've come to believe that you were right."

"Huh?"

"Do you know how we first met? I told God that I wanted a boyfriend, and he told me to sign up for AP Chemistry, which you were taking. It was my idea, never part of the divine plan. But apparently God put it to good use. As long as I was besotted with you, I was never attracted by those hunks on the football team, who might have gotten me in trouble. And when you betrayed me with Bonnie, God used it as an opportunity to teach me forgiveness."

"But that's all behind us," Joan went on. "We're out of high school now, and that phase of our life is over. I'm an adult now. Do you want to know what I think? I think God has the perfect husband picked out for me, another Chosen One, strong and handsome and ardent. Not a wuss."

"God has never specified to me which religion is correct," continued the Silhouette in an apparent digression. "The Christians, who say the Messiah was born two thousand years ago and was the Son of God, or Grace's people, who say that the Messiah will be born in the future and a descendant of the ancient kings. I certainly don't think I'm the Messiah. But I may turn out to be the woman who bears him. Maybe that's what I'm being trained to be, the ideal mother."

She was still shrouded in darkness, a negative Joan who could be seen only because She was blocking the light.

"As for YOU," She concluded," the best advice I can give is, stay out of the way. I'll give back the $ 5,000; you may need it in the future, and God may provide for me. But don't interfere in my life again. We're over."

"No!" shouted Adam. "I love you, Jane. Our three years together meant something. Good ripples, ruined by a moment of panic. I'll prove myself worthy of you. I'll paint your picture, it'll be the greatest picture in the world, a Joana Lisa."

He saw her silhouette change, as if she was turning towards the door.

"Don't go out of my life, Jane!"

He rushed forward and hugged her around the shoulders, careful to avoid touching her breasts. The top of her blouse was wet. Adam circled her and raised his hands to her face. "You're crying."

"Yes," sobbed Joan. "It was all an act, Adam. I had to convince you that you weren't the worm you think you are, by taking things to extremes. I needed the dark so you wouldn't see my face. I don't want a hunk for a husband. I don't want to bear the Messiah; I want to have your children. Though not yet." She switched on the light, found a Kleenax, and started dabbing at her face.

"Then you don't hate me?"

"I hate what you did to me, Adam, and you'll have a tough time back in Arcadia. Everybody will poke fun at you, the Runaway Bridegroom, and Grace may beat you up."

"Yeah, I pretty much deserve that for how I treated you."

"But I can't hate you. I love you."

She unhitched her jeans and tossed them in a chair, then started unbuttoning the wet blouse. Adam, scarcely believing his good fortune, started to follow suit.

KNOCKNOCKNOCK.

"Eek!" squealed Joan, picking up her blouse and jeans and dashing to the bathroom. Adam looked down at himself. Trousers still fastened, and if he was shirtless that would simply convey to the visitor that he was intruding. Adam answered the door.

It was an African-American minister. "May I help you?" asked Adam unenthusiastically.

"I just have a couple of questions," said the minister. "Do you, Adam, take Joan Girardi to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, til death do you part?

"I do," said Adam, confused by the preacher's opportune appearance.

The minister looked over Adam's shoulder. Turning, Adam could see Joan's head sticking out from the bathroom. "Do you, Joan, take Adam Rove to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, til death do you part?

"I do."

"Then by the power vested in Me (by Me) I now declare you husband and wife. Adam, you may now kiss the bride, and whatever else you two were planning to do. Just wanted to make sure things were done properly. God be with you, but don't let that intimidate you. I'm always there." He closed the door himself.

"Was that--?"

"Yeah," said Joan. She walked out of the bathroom, naked, carrying her clothes in a neat pile. "I met Him earlier this evening. He was the one who convinced me that we had to thrash things out before we could--"

"So we're married now?"

"In the sight of God, yes. But it'll be hard to prove it to anybody, so I suppose we'd better visit a justice of the peace when we get home." She walked past Adam and put her clothes on the trunk, in the process confirming her earlier assertion that she had a butt back there. No longer would they hide anything from each other. She turned around and smiled. "But I'm ready for the consummation now."

_And so a man shall leave his father and mother and cling to his wife, and they shall become one flesh. Genesis 2:24_

THE END

_(Author's Note: this story and the one just before it (COMING OF AGE) have been really angsty, dealing with crucial crises in the lives of the characters. I promise that my next story will be more light-hearted, though I'm not sure when it will start getting posted)_


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